What can I say? I'm a Work-In-Progress
by Evana Black
Summary: Fourth resident of Number Four, Privet Drive, and amateur baker, Harriet Potter is going to bust up the wizarding world! Dumb luck, dumb kids, and dumb jokes, WIP is a wrong-boy-who-lived story with a twist. Or maybe a dozen.
1. There once was a boy na- never mind

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys has woken up to find their niece on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun still rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the big brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night Mr Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-coloured bobble hats - but Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a roundabout at the fair, playing a computer game with his father, being hugged and kissed by his mother. But there were also a photograph of a girl, with messy black hair, grinning widely as she rode her own bicycle.

At that very moment, Harriet Potter was asleep, but not for much longer.

"Harriet!"

Harriet woke up, ignoring her aunt and rolling over.

"Harriet, wake up!"

She huffed as she rolled over once again, pulling the covers over her head to block out that _damn annoying bright Sunday morning sunlight_.

"HARRIET, FOR GOODNESS SAKE CHILD, WAKE UP!"

Rolling over once more, she fell to the floor with a thud.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get, you lazy girl," her aunt said affectionately as she stood at the door, "Now come on, do the bacon for your aunt. Heaven knows I'll burn it and ruin Duddy-kins' birthday."

Harriet rolled her eyes, but answered, "Yes, Aunt Petunia. I'll do the bacon so we won't ruin… _Duddy_ -kins' birthday. Just give me a couple of minutes."

She got off the floor and piled her covers onto the bed again before making her bed neat.

Harriet showered quickly and changed into jeans and a t-shirt. She shuddered a bit- it was slightly cold, even for a summer morning. She threw on a thin blue sweater that was once Aunt Petunia's and trudged down the stairs, comforting herself with the thought that the next day she would spend a nice long time in the bath, flourishing in the amount of the Dursleys' money she was wasting.

As usual, the table was piled high with Dudley's presents. It looked like Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, along with the second television and the racing bike. Why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery, as Dudley was fat and hated exercise.

Aunt Petunia had already made some toast and baked beans (the only thing that she could cook brilliantly) but Harriet was left to do the bacon and the eggs. Harriet started frying the bacon. She made sure to pile Dudley's plate full of bacon, giving everyone else much less.

She fried the bacon and then made the eggs- four sunny side up fried eggs, and four scrambled eggs. They had always argued over which was better, Dudley and Uncle Vernon preferring fried eggs while Harriet and Aunt Petunia liking scrambled eggs better. "It's an Evans trait," Aunt Petunia had quickly pronounced.

After cooking the food, she somehow managed to set it all out onto the table, piling and stacking the presents even more.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harriet sat down to eat.

"Care to say why you've given me…" Uncle Vernon looked down, "half as much bacon as I want?" He looked back up at her, quirking an eyebrow.

"It's Dudley's birthday." Harriet said, "Therefore half the bacon must be his."

Uncle Vernon shrugged and started on his food. "Mind you, you'd better make this up on _my_ birthday, brat."

Just as Harriet started on her eggs, Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like Uncle Vernon. He had a large, pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes and a thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head.

"Happy birthday, darling cousin Dudley," Harriet said as he sat down.

"Happy birthday, darling cousin Harriet," Dudley replied. Harriet rolled her eyes.

"My birthday's not for another month, silly. And I've told you only about a hundred dozen times - it's _Harry_. Harriet is a right snuffy name."

Dudley shrugged as he started on his food. "Alright then, _Harriet_ , happy _early_ birthday," he said around a mouthful of food. Harriet wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Ah, but Harriet is a good old name," said Aunt Petunia, "Far more appropriate for a girl than…" her face twisted, " _Harry_."

Harriet rolled her eyes, and finished her food and washed her plate before returning to the table, where Dudley had finished his food and was now counting presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father, "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Aunt Marge's present, see, it's under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"Alright, thirty-seven, then," said Dudley, going red in the face. Harriet, who could sense a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, hurriedly said she needed to start her maths homework before darting up the stairs. She heard her aunt promising Dudley another two presents as she shut the door to her bedroom.

Sighing, Harriet sat down. How _lucky_ Dudley was, to get thirty-nine presents. Harriet wondered if she'd get that many in her _life_. Well, perhaps Dudley wasn't so lucky. He was getting spoiled and spoiled people were rude and arrogant and thought they should always get what they wanted.

Her aunt and uncle didn't shower her with love, but they did like her… at least, her aunt did… sort of… although that was more due to her resentment for _dear_ Lily Potter. They treated her like she was a temporary guest, because, well, she was. Once she hit 18 she was getting out of here and never looking back - okay, maybe once or twice, Christmas cards and whatnot - but it was all in the thought, of course.

Harriet was perfectly fine with that. Definitely. And was not bitter about her parents abandoning her in the slightest.

Ever since she was young, her aunt had made it known that her parents didn't want her, which was why they sent her to live with them.

"They left you on our doorstep," she would say, her face twisting with anger, "On the first of November. They didn't want you, they said. They needed to take care of your brother, and you were simply… in the way."

Harriet figured that her brother was probably spoiled too.

It seemed even the slightest mention of her parents was enough to make Uncle Vernon's face turn red, and Aunt Petunia give a disdainful sniff. Even Dudley knew something about what was going on, too, because every time the topic was brought up he'd tell Harriet she was way better than _those folks_ anyways, which wasn't saying much, because Dudley treated her like one would treat weeds growing in their backyard, which is to say that he didn't like her very much, but couldn't be bothered to get rid of her.

She lay down flat on her bed and gazed up at her room. The furniture, floor, and door were all whitewashed. The walls were a light blue-grey colour, the same as the covers on her bed and the curtains. The lamps, when lit, glowed a warm yellow colour, and Harriet quite liked her room.

It was comfy, somewhere she wouldn't mind staying temporarily, for a holiday, but it was never quite _hers_. It was never quite _home_.

"Harriet?" her aunt called, "We're going to the zoo. You'll be with Mrs. Figg. If you like you can deliver the cupcakes and cookies and other treats today. You can keep all the money."

Harriet sat up. " _All_ of it? Not 50 or 60 or 70 percent?"

"Yes, all of it. You'll need it soon."

Later, Harriet would fine out why she would be needing the money. But for now, Harriet felt rather blessed as she jumped off her bed and flung open the door, smiling brilliantly at her aunt. "Thank you!"

Aunt Petunia rolled her eyes. "Yes, well, you're the baker and the delivery service, so it's only fair."

Harriet ran a bake sale delivery service in the neighbourhood - which may or may not be legal. Every year she made a little over 200 pounds from it. So far she had made over 800 pounds from it, and after the deliveries today, she would have 20 pounds more.

Harriet piled all the treats into the basket of her rickety old bicycle, waving at her aunt hurriedly before going off to Mrs. Figg's to drop off her bag.

"Any chance you might be able to sneak a treat in for your old babysitter?" Mrs. Figg said. Harriet rolled her eyes. "Of course, Mrs. Figg. Look, I brought you a cake." She handed the old woman a slice of mossy green cake.

Mrs. Figg lifted an eyebrow. "Green?"

"I've been experimenting with food dye." Harriet shrugged, "It's just the colour."

Mrs. Figg thanked her for the cake, and Harriet left on her bike to make her deliveries. What Mrs. Figg didn't know was that Harriet had actually give her one of her more… dated products. So the cake wasn't _actually_ dyed… Harriet didn't have the money to waste on that sort of thing.

Harriet's Bake Sale Delivery Service had been running for only four years, ever since Harriet was able to bake. It was her pride and joy, and while her aunt helped her with it when she was younger, she had started to take control of it for herself. Older exchanges were recorded by in her aunt's thin cursive in a large accounting book, but more recent entries were written down in Harriet's neatest print.

Half an hour later, Harriet thanked Denise Finch and her little sister Abby, who had given her a pound of their allowance in exchange for a few chocolate chip cookies.

Clutching the money in her hand, Harriet rode back to Mrs. Figg's.

"How much did you make this time, dearie?" Mrs. Figg called as she entered the living room.

"23 pounds!" Harriet said excitedly, "Well, half of it was from Miss Wendy, and you know she loves my chocolate cupcakes."

The rest of the afternoon was spent curled up on the couch in front of the TV, watching Tom and Jerry. When it was time to go, Mrs Figg gave her five pounds for the cake and sent her off.

"Bye Mrs. Figg!" she called, "See you later!"

When she got back to number four, her aunt was already washing the dishes.

"There's a rather large slice of meat pie on the table," said Aunt Petunia, "Along with a bit of catsup."

"You didn't make it, I suppose?" Harriet said cheekily.

"No, I did not. We brought it from the restaurant at the zoo."

Harriet ate the meat pie quickly before speaking. "I'm going to my room, Aunt Petunia, do you mind if I have an ice lolly? There are a few in the freezer."

Aunt Petunia shrugged. "Go ahead." She walked off to the living room.

Harriet collected the ice lolly from the freezer and retreated to her bedroom. She deposited the money into her piggy bank. She now had roughly 860 pounds from delivering things. That was a lot for a child to have, but her aunt had never let her use it, insisting that she'd "need it". Harriet had shrugged before walking off. She'd learned not to question her aunt's motives, or to disobey her - Aunt Petunia's wrath was something to be feared.

After finishing the sweet, Harriet washed up and went to bed. She smiled as she went to sleep. It had been a good day.

School was let out about a week after Dudley's birthday, and Harriet spent more time doing chores and baking. She visited Mrs Figg every Tuesday and Thursday, each time with a new creation for her to try, none as old as the green cake. She made a batch of cookies and sold them all to the Finches.

Harriet rolled up to Mrs. Figg's home on her bike. She left it out on the doorstep, knocking hurriedly before entering.

Mrs. Figg was crouched by the fire. "What are you doing, Mrs. Figg?" Harriet asked.

Mrs. Figg smiled uncertainly. "Oh, just putting out the fire. It was a bit too hot."

Harriet stared at her. "We're in the middle of _summer_ ," she said with an incredulity saturating her voice.

"Anyways, what have you got for me?" Mrs. Figg asked her.

"Here we have a apple and cinnamon muffin, with a little caramel," she handed it to Mrs. Figg, who took one bite and declared it delicious.

Harriet made her way out the door. She tried lifting the stand on her bicycle, but found that she couldn't, it was stuck. As she bent down to fix it, she heard Mrs. Figg talk to someone.

"Oh, that was young Harriet. She came with a muffin. It was quite good. Would you like some, Albus?"

Harriet wondered why Mrs. Figg was hiding people in her house, but then decided it was none of business, really, and rode back to number four, being careful not to veer too much to the right, lest the bike stand touch the ground and force her to stop.

When she got back to number four, she left her bicycle next to the car and entered the home. "I'm back!"

Aunt Petunia popped her head out of the kitchen. "Ah, yes, how was the muffin today?"

"I believe Mrs. Figg's exact words were 'the Queen of muffins'," Harriet grinned, "I have a few left, would you like one, Aunt Petunia?"

"Of course, of course," her aunt looked slightly worried, "I would like to talk to you about something. I'll be in the sitting room when you're ready."

Harriet watched nervously as her aunt walked out of the kitchen. She took two muffins out of her backpacks and stood in the kitchen, stalling for as long as possible.

What did she want to talk to her about? Surely it wasn't… puberty?

Harriet shuddered and shook the dreadful thought from her mind. It was something else. It had to be.

Clutching the muffins, she entered the living room. She handed her aunt a muffin, keeping the other for herself. She nibbled on it as she sat on the squishy armchair.

"You see," Aunt Petunia said, "when your mother was your age, she received a letter on her birthday."

Oh dear. This really was not going the way Harriet was expecting it to. Well, at least it wasn't about… puberty. Better to listen to her mother's chain mail story.

Aunt Petunia, unaware of Harriet's thoughts, continued. "It was delivered by a stern woman in rectangular glasses. It invited her to go to a school, of which the woman was a professor. I am certain you will get this letter too."

"Okay," Harriet said uncertainly, "So?"

"The thing is, that this school was not a regular school. It didn't teach you maths and science and English. It taught you…"

Harriet paused, leaning forward, breath held in an infinite moment.

"…magic."

Harriet choked on her muffin and started coughing. After 15 seconds of this, Petunia fetched her a glass of water, and she stopped coughing.

"Thanks," she mumbled, " _Magic_?"

Aunt Petunia nodded. "Magic, indeed. I can't explain it to you, because I don't have it myself. But on your birthday someone will likely come and explain magic to you, and bring you for school shopping, should you choose to go."

"But… I don't have enough money to pay for tuition," Harriet said.

"Fortunately, this school is government funded, therefore you do not need to pay anything. However, you will need pay for school supplies, which is why I insisted you not spend your money from baking on silly things like sweets."

"Oh," Harriet said, feeling rather dumb, "How do you know I have magic?"

Aunt Petunia rolled her eyes. "Have you _seen_ yourself, Harriet? Do you remember when Reginald Thoms blamed you for putting a whoopee cushion on Miss Dwayne's cushion, and she believed him? Remember what happened to Miss Dwayne?"

Harriet thought, a dawning realization coming upon her. "Her wig… turned pink!"

"Yes, it did, and you know why? Because you were upset at her."

"And the squash-coloured sweater!"

"Yes, that too."

"And the time that we were going to go bowling but then George McFrey broke my foot with a bowling ball and then it healed?"

"Mmhmm."

"And the time we had your potato leek soup and it tasted _so bad_ -"

"Yes, Harriet, I remember, it turned into mashed potatoes with a side of leeks," Aunt Petunia said, "Anyways, now that we've established that you are, indeed, magical, we have your parents and brother to talk about."

"They're magic too?"

"Yes, they are. Well… the thing is that a couple of years before you were born, while your parents were finishing school, there was a dark lord on the rise. He wanted to kill all non-magicals and any of their magical children as well. He wanted to kill many full blooded magicals who accepted these people.

My sister was born into a non-magical family, therefore he wanted to kill her too. Her husband was a full blooded magical, but accepted her and married her, so he wanted to kill him too. Since you and your brother were their children, he wanted to kill you too.

He came to your home on Halloween night. He made your parents faint, or something, and then he reached you and your brother's nursery. He shot a 'killing curse' at your brother, and somehow it reflected and vanquished the dark lord.

The magicals dubbed him 'the Boy-Who-Lived' and your parents were so caught up in his fame that they didn't want to care for you, so they sent you to us."

Harriet was silent for the longest time. "Can I go?"

Aunt Petunia was slightly taken aback. "What?"

"To this school. This magical school."

"Of course, why else would I be telling you about it?"

Harriet built up her resolve, and her aunt recognized the look in her eyes. "I'll show them. I'll show them they were wrong to leave Harriet Potter in the dust."

Her aunt smiled. "And that, you will do," she said before lifting herself off the couch.

Once she reached the doorway, Aunt Petunia paused. "But before you do, make sure to do the dishes, Harriet?"

 **Hey! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm transferring some of my fics from AO3 to ffdotnet. The chapter title is in reference to Jon Cozart's "Harry Potter in 99 Seconds". I'd highly recommend you check it out!**  
 **This fic is a big, fat, parody of all the WBWL fics that exist here on , so it's much more appropriate to post it here rather than AO3. I'll be uploading the rest of the chapters one day at a time, but if you're too bothered by it just go read it on AO3, where it's updated up until where I've written.**


	2. Diagonally?

Harriet was picking the crumbs of her muffin off the sofa when the doorbell rang.

"Harriet," her aunt said, "Get the door." Harriet brushed the crumbs off her hands and face before walking to the door.

Standing there tall man in black robes. He had dark, greasy hair, sallow skin, and a large, hooked nose.

He spoke softly, but no gently. "I wish to speak to a… Harriet Potter."

"That'll be me," Harriet replied, her cheerful voice contrasting from the man's careful tone.

"I'm here to deliver a letter of admittance to a school." He handed her a letter with a wax red seal. She opened the letter to read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

 _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

 _Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Ms Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

"What does it mean, 'we await your owl'?" Harriet asked as she let the man step inside.

"It is the form of communication for witches and wizards," the man said.

"Oh, alright," Harriet said, "But if I told you right now that I accept, would that count?"

"Yes, it would."

"I accept the invitation to Hogwarts," Harriet said clearly.

"Brilliant," said the man boredly.

"I realize I did not get a name from you, sir?"

"Professor Severus Snape."

"Thank you, Professor Snape. What subject do you teach?"

"Potions," replied the man idly, "Now that you've accepted, I'll take you to get your school supplies."

"Okay, but you'll have to wait a while, I need to get some things."

Professor Snape said nothing as she steered him into the sitting room.

"Aunt Petunia, there's a Professor Snape here, he's going to take me to get my school supplies," she called out to her aunt.

"Alright, Harriet, make sure to bring at least half of your money," her aunt called back.

"Would you like something to eat or drink?" Harriet asked Professor Snape.

"No thank you," he replied stiffly. Harriet rolled her eyes.

"Aunt Petunia, bring a blueberry muffin," she told her aunt before hurrying up the stairs. She slipped a white jumper over her head, and tried to make her hair sit flat, but to no avail. Harriet shoved her savings jar inside her only backpack and slung it around her shoulders before rushing down the stairs.

"I'm ready!" she said excitedly as Professor Snape was about to take a bite out of the muffin Aunt Petunia had just handed him.

* * *

"How are we getting there?"

"We will be using the floo, spelled f-l-o-o," said Professor Snape, "It is a system that runs through fireplaces. You throw the powder into the fire, then speak the name of the place you wish to go to. However, you can only use it for registered fireplaces. Your fireplace has been temporarily registered, just for today."

As the professor withdrew a pot from his robes, a thought appeared in Harriet's head. Yes, how unbelievable. She can think.

"Professor Snape?" Harriet said as the man placed the pot on the mantle.

"Yes?"

"So… you say my fireplace has been temporarily registered, just for today, correct?"

"Yes," Snape said, wondering where she was going with this.

"So you mean to say," Harriet paused for dramatic effect, "that you just assumed that I would accept the invitation?"

"I suppose so," Snape replied, irritation evident on his face from her questioning.

"Then… say I didn't accept. Wouldn't that mean that random people could just enter my house through the fireplace?"

"It's not as stupid as that, Miss _Potter_ ," Snape sneered, deliberately spitting over her last name, "You see, wizards lack basic logic, but know how to maintain security. The fireplace is only activated for five minutes after you accept, so I do _impress upon you_ to stop wasting time with your mind-addling questions."

"But then how do we return?"

"Only the student can return through the fireplace, and then it is sealed permanently - or at least, until you get your fireplace registered for all-time Floo use," Professor Snape said, "Now, let us stop dilly-dallying."

He took a pinch of the silvery powder in his hands.

"Observe, and do as I do. Bring the pot along," the professor said. He threw the powder into the fireplace. A green fire roared from the fireplace, and Professor Snape stepped inside. "The Leaky Cauldron!" He disappeared in a flash of flames.

Harriet turned to her aunt, who was watching nervously. Noticing Harriet's gaze, she nodded.

Harriet picked up some of the 'floo' powder and threw it into the fireplace. The same green flames leaped up. Harriet stepped in unsurely. "The Leaky Cauldron!"

And suddenly, she was spinning very quickly, shooting up. Her stomach lurched like butterflies were flying inside. It was like riding a roller coaster. She saw other fireplaces flying past, until finally she shot out, falling on the floor, but had the instincts to break her fall using her arms.

She coughed, picking herself up and rubbing her arms tenderly.

"Ah, a tough first trip with the floo?" said the barman.

"I s'pose so," Harriet said, "I'm looking for Professor Snape?"

Just as she said that, the professor appeared.

"Ah, Miss _Potter_ , it seems the Headmaster wishes me to run other errands. I must leave you in the care of Auror Black, who will assist you in shopping. Tom? If you would insure that Miss _Potter_ does not get into any _mischief_ while waiting for Auror Black?"

"Certainly, Professor Snape," the barman said.

"Bye, Professor Snape! See you at school!" she waved at the man, who nodded curtly and walked out the back door.

"Would you like anything, Miss Potter?" Tom the barman asked as she waited.

"Sure, but I only have pounds, not… whatever the currency is."

"We do accept pounds here at the Leaky," Tom smiled. He pulled out a gold coin, a silver coin, and a small bronze coin.

"Now this gold coin is called a galleon. It's equivalent to about 2 pounds. This is a sickle…" Tom explained the wizarding currency to her.

"How complicated!" Harriet said. "In the Muggle world, we keep it much more simple."

Tom nodded sympathetically. "Every year, poor Muggleborns come in, having to multiply by ridiculous numbers to understand how much something is really worth in their world," he paused. "Ah, here's Auror Black."

"Hello, Tom," said the man. He was tall, and wore a brown trench coat. He had slightly long black hair, but not nearly as long as Professor Snape's. He had a handsome face with aristocratic features and grey eyes.

"Hello, Black. Here we have young Miss Potter," said Tom, "Miss Potter, this is Auror Black."

"Hello," Harriet said curiously, "What's an Auror?"

"We're like magical policemen," answered Auror Black.

"Okay," Harriet said, then grinned, "Let's go! I wanna see all the magicky stuff!"

* * *

Auror Black and Harriet were quite the pair. They practically bounced all the way to Gringotts, the wizarding bank, Harriet asking question after question in her excited voice, and the auror answering them with equal enthusiasm.

While on the cart going down to deposit money into Harriet's newly created vault, they both whooped loudly, annoying the goblin assisting them immensely.

"First, we'll get you a trunk," said Auror Black, "Most Hogwarts students store their belongings in trunks."

They visited Wiseacre's Wizarding Supplies, where Harriet purchased a dark green trunk with gold lining. She also got a brass telescope ("There's a class just for stargazing?!"), brass scales ("What could I possibly need this for?"), and a set of glass phials ("So we can blow stuff up, right?").

"We'll get you some robes," said Auror Black as they stepped into Madam Malkin's. While Madam Malkin helped Harriet with her robes, Auror Black disappeared, saying he'd get them both ice cream from the ice cream store.

"Can you make them self adjusting, if that's a thing?" Harriet asked Madam Malkin, "I'm a little tight on money."

"Of course, dear," Madam Malkin said. "You'll just have to come back every few years to renew the charm."

She waved her wand, and a few sparks fell onto the robes.

"Can you make them sparkly, too?" Harriet asked eagerly. Madam Malkin smiled.

"I'm afraid that since sparkles are against the school's dress policy, I am not allowed to do that. However, Ms. Potter, dare I say that should you find the right charm, perhaps," the shop owner lowered her voice, " _Fabulous Fixes for the Fashionable Witch_ , then you're free the make whatever adjustments you wish." Madam Malkin straightened, her eyes glimmering. "Now don't you go telling anyone I said that."

"Said what?" Harriet smiled at the witch. _I like her._

Madam Malkin handed her a pair of dragon hide gloves and rang up her purchases. As Harriet waited for Auror Black, she glanced down at the list of things to get.

Auror Black returned with two giant ice creams in hand. He handed one to Harriet and took the bag of robes from her. They had a contest to see who could finish theirs the fastest.

Harriet, of course, won.

Both on a sugar high, they headed to Potage's Cauldron Shop, and Auror Black almost let Harriet purchase the gold cauldron, before remembering his role and quickly switching it for a pewter cauldron.

They went to Flourish and Blotts', where Harriet picked up her schoolbooks as well as a few extra books to read (including " _Fabulous Fixes for the Fashionable Witch_ ".)

Then they headed to Ollivander's. "Can you get your wand alone?" said Auror Black. Harriet nodded. "Ollivander creeps me out. How much longer till your birthday?"

"One day," said Harriet. Auror Black grinned.

"Great! I'll get you a birthday present."

As he left, an old lady came up to Harriet. "Only the worthy can use this wand. I must insist that you try it."

"No thanks. I don't take things from strangers, not to mention magical strangers."

"But m'dear! You must!" the old lady's silvery hair fell in her face as the wind blew, "I have spent my life working on this masterpiece!"

Harriet shrugged. She picked it up. She felt a warmth come upon her.

The old woman smiled. "Rainbow eucalyptus wood, with the gold from the bones of a Jabberwocky as a core and sealed with an ice gemstone from the heart of an ice dragon. Nine inches." The old lady handed her a card with the description on it, which was good, because there was no way Harriet would be able to remember it all.

"Okaaaayy," Harriet said. Then she slowly handed the wand back. "No thanks."

"But… But… Miss, it is yours now! Free of charge."

Harriet picked it back up. "Just go away." The old woman beamed and hobbled away. Once she was out of sight, Harriet threw the wand to the floor and brought her foot on it. A crack sounded throughout the alley.

"'Only the worthy can use this wand', my arse," Harriet said, "Stupid choosy wand."

She picked up the two halves of the wand and entered the wand shop.

"Miss Potter," a dusty old voice said from somewhere.

"And I wondered why Auror Black thought you were creepy," Harriet thought aloud. "You really should greet people at your storefront."

An old man appeared in front of her. "Forgive me," he rasped, "It's just hilarious, sometimes, watching people get creeped out."

Harriet grinned. "I get it, I love messing with people too." She handed him the remains of the wand. "Some random lady gave me this wand. Of course, I don't trust random people, nor do I want a wand that's so high and mighty. So I broke it. Plus, what the hell is," Harriet checked the card, "'gold from the bone of a jabberwocky' or 'ice gemstone from the heart of an ice dragon', anyways?"

"No idea," replied the wandmaker. He examined the wand. "This is merely a wand made of American beech, painted with some bright and random colours. The core is not of gold, but of… fool's gold. Iron pyrite. The gemstone at the back is not even a diamond. It is mineral topaz. And… ah. Clever. There is a charm applied to it that makes it warm upon first contact with a new person."

"Wow," replied Harriet, "That lady is a _liar_."

"Indeed," said Ollivander, "Now, shall we get you sorted with a real wand?"

"Alright," said Harriet. She lifted her arm. She sensed something she liked. A box flew into her hand.

Ollivander raised her eyebrow. "An impressive show of power."

"I am never doing that again," said Harriet, suddenly feeling very tired, "And yes, I know, it looks like I'm a show off. Sorry."

She opened the box. Inside was a wand made of pale wood. She picked it up, and there was swirl of magic that burst forth through her. A wind swept through the store and automatically fixed everything, sorting the wands out and taking years worth of dust off the furniture. The place felt good as new. And for good measure, a couple of colourful sparks flew out of the wand.

"Wow," said Ollivander, "Didn't you just-"

"I hate this," said Harriet, feeling drained, "This wand is sapping the energy from me."

"Holly wood, eleven inches, with a phoenix feather core," recited Ollivander.

Harriet tilted her head. "What's that in centimetres?"

"Roughly 27 centimetres," replied Ollivander.

"Almost the length of a ruler," replied Harriet absentmindedly.

"Nevermind that," said Ollivander, "The phoenix who gave its feather for this wand gave only one other. How curious that this wand should choose you, considering its brother gave your brother his scar."

"That _boy_ ," said Harriet, "isn't my _anything_. Also, can I not take this wand?"

Ollivander raised his eyebrows. "Why not?"

"Listen," Harriet placed her palms on the counter, leaning forward, "I've already got enough going against me, okay? I don't have much money, my parents abandoned me, and I'm a newcomer to this world. I don't need people accusing me of being evil."

"No other wand will fit you until this one is gone."

"Until it's gone?" Harriet smirked. What an easy loophole. "How much, Mr. Ollivander?"

"Seven galleons, if you please." Harriet fished out seven galleons for the wand and then dropped it to the floor and crushed it like she had to the other wand.

"You have impressive strength," noted Ollivander, "And while I am definitely not pleased with you destroying Ollivander craftsmanship, I must applaud you on your cunning."

"Thank you, thank you," Harriet bowed several times. She picked up the ruins of the wand and set it on the table. From the wreckage, she pulled out a beautiful orange-yellow, almost fire like feather from the wood.

"Is this a phoenix feather?" asked Harriet.

"Indeed," said Ollivander, "From the lightest of creatures. But it only gave one other feather- one that ended up in You-Know-Who's wand."

"You mean Vol-"

"Yes, that man. Do refrain from saying his name, it causes great distress," said Ollivander.

"So, Mr Ollivander, could I, by any chance, reuse this feather into…say… a quill?"

Ollivander clapped his hands together. "Excellent idea! Yes, you certainly could. I would rather quickly recommend the quill-shop in Diagon-Alley, Amaneunsis Quills."

"Thank you," said Harriet, "Now, for another wand?"

They sorted the other wand out quickly, without any flying boxes this time. Harriet felt much happier with this one. She thanked Ollivander, promised to visit again later to prank customers, and then went outside and waited outside for Auror Black to return.

When he returned, he had in his hands a small box - one that would hold jewellery.

He grinned widely as he handed the box to her. "Don't open it until tomorrow. It's jewellery, as you can guess. Young girls like things like that, right?"

Harriet smiled at the auror. "You don't have children, do you?"

Auror Black shook his head. "How'd you guess?"

Harriet stuck her tongue out. "Can't say. Thank you for the gift, though. I don't why you're giving a random kid a gift, but it's very nice of you."

Auror Black frowned. "Random kid? Do you not remember me?"

Harriet looked at him in confusion. "Remember you?"

"I'm your godfather," he replied.

"What?!" Harriet said, nearly dropping everything.

"Woah, woah, woah," said the auror, steadying her.

"You're my godfather?" she exclaimed, "Where have you been?"

"The Ministry, that is, the government, sent me on a five year long mission to Asia," replied Auror Black, "I am now fluent in Thai."

He paused. "You really don't remember me? I used to visit you. I think your aunt can vouch for that. I gave you a silver hairbrush for your birthday before I left."

"So _that's_ where it came from," said Harriet, "I never use it, it always pulls on my scalp and makes it hurt. Anyways- before that?"

"No wonder your hair looks so much like James'," replied Auror Black, "Before that - Iraq. The less said about that, the better."

He stared at her. "We'll get you a pet - assuming you want one, that is - and then we're going to the Leaky to discuss this."

At the pet store, Harriet browsed through some cats, before deciding not to get one. She just didn't click with any of them. She encountered some snakes, and surprisingly, heard them speak.

"Take me! Take me!"

"Shut up, you occamy! She's taking us!"

"Speaker! Please! I feel a connection to you!"

Harriet felt connected to all of the snakes. Shuddering, she skipped them. "Sorry," she whispered, "It's just creepy."

She came across a beautiful snowy owl. "This one!" Harriet said. Sirius was over in a flash, and so was the storekeeper.

"How much for this owl?"

"Twenty galleons," replied the shopkeeper. Sirius handed the money over.

"She's a female snowy owl, been here for long because of her attitude," said the shopkeeper, "I think she was waiting for you." Harriet rolled her eyes. _Cheesy saps_ , she thought.

At the Leaky Cauldron, they got a private room. Harriet split open her trunk and arranged everything inside except for the owl.

"You can let her have a stretch," said Auror Black, "She'll find you wherever you go."

"Sure," said Harriet. She opened the door of the cage. "Bye." The owl seemed to roll her amber eyes before hopping out and flying off. Harriet had a feeling that she would get along great with the owl.

"Alright," said the auror, "Since you can't seem to remember me, my name is Sirius Black. I am your godfather and your magical guardian."

"Nice to meet you, Sirius Black - wait, your name is Sirius?" she sniggered, "Um. Anyways. My name is Harry Harriet Lillian Potter, and I go by Harry, even if nobody, not even the narrator, acknowledges it."

Ignoring _Harry's_ inappropriately meta comment, Sirius replied, "Ah, yes, an unfortunate name. Makes for great puns. I was named after a star - the brightest star in the sky, would you believe it."

Harry took a deep breath, and then exploded. "So now that you're back in Britain, can you take me in? Also, why would you care for me? My aunt told me that my parents wanted my brother and so did everyone else. Are they still friends with you? Were you friends with my mum or dad? What are they like? Why did they leave me, and were you-"

"Slow down," said Sirius, "First of all, yes, I want to, if you'd like. Next, your parents gave you away while I was in Iraq. I was furious with them. I'm still good friends with them, not as close as before, though. I was friends with your father first. Something changed in James and Lily while I was away. They didn't care for you so much. When you broke your arm as a toddler at their Halloween party, they sent you to your aunt's because they didn't want to deal with you. I didn't really have much of a say.

I had a few months before I was sent off to Asia, and while I was here, I visited you and gave you that hairbrush. It's a magic hairbrush. You have the unfortunate luck of inheriting James' messy hair, and as a girl I thought it wouldn't look as good, so the hairbrush is enchanted to make your hair better and better each day. But I guess, since you never used it, there wasn't any point anyways."

Harry stared at him. Then something clicked inside her mind. A story filled all the blank spaces in her mind. A man… a man's face, smiling, a dog playing… a wrapped box, and inside… her silver hairbrush.

Harry's eyes widened and she gasped dramatically.

"You!"

Sirius smiled. "Me," he said agreeably.

"There was another man," Harry recalled. She remembered seeing a scarred face, amber eyes, and the taste of chocolate. "He was nice. He gave me my book."

"Your book?" Sirius raised an eyebrow, "Must be Remus, then."

"My book, as in my journal," clarified Harry, "Gorgeous pink-purple, sort of spiceberry colour with a golden lock and-"

"Honestly," said Sirius, "I don't need to know." Seeing Harry's hurt expression, he quickly amended his statement. "You don't want me to find and read it, do you?"

Harry smiled again. "There's nothing interesting in there," said Harry, "Just some boring school drab and some accounting things."

"You're my goddaughter," Sirius ruffled her hair, "It'll be interesting to me."

Harry raised her eyebrows, batting his hands away from her head, "So you really want to know what a nine-year old thinks of Amanda Kerrins' stupid face?"

"You were a mean nine year old- wait, _how long_ have you had this thing?" Sirius asked.

"Since I was six," said Harry promptly.

"Must be enchanted," replied Sirius, "Remus must have enchanted it so that you could write forever. Only Remus would do something like that."

"Who is this Remus anyways?"

"Remus Lupin is your parent's friend," said Sirius, "He's basically another godfather."

"Is he an Auror too?" asked Harry eagerly.

"No," said Sirius slowly. Harry frowned.

"Then why didn't he take me in?" Harry asked, confused.

"Because…" Sirius started mumbling, "He's got financial troubles…couldn't support you… and a different problem…"

Figuring she would get no more out of Sirius about Remus Lupin, she changed the topic.

"Tell me about Volde-"

"Merlin's beard, child! Don't go around saying that!" Sirius said.

"Sorry, forgot." Harry frowned, "I'm kind of new to this stuff."

"It's alright," Sirius said, "Just… have a little more caution. People in the wizarding world don't like it when others say his name."

"That's stupid," Harry replied, crossing her arms, "Why?"

"Because, young one," Sirius said with an air of wisdom, "his name is taboo. Quite literally."

"Literally?"

"Back when He was still alive, those who dared say his name summoned his followers, who would then kill them or torture them or do something else equally horrible to them."

"Oh," Harry said.

" _Oh_ indeed," Sirius replied, "Some people, who witnessed these events firsthand and survived, would probably have a literal panic attack if you said the name. Therefore," he paused, "We must try and have a _little_ more tact for them."

"That makes more sense," Harry said, "I'll try not to say it around others."

"Good kid," Sirius said, smiling, "Now, it's nearly time for lunch, so I daresay you must be starving right now, right?"

"Positively," Harry grinned.

"Then let's eat."

 **I was kinda tempted to have Harry say "Whatcha name, man?" to Snape, but I figured that's too much of a _Hamilton_ reference for either Snape or the Harry Potter fandom to handle.**

 **"Gosh, what's with all these needy snakes? I'd rather have this fantastic, beautiful owl. No, it doesn't need a name, what are you on about? It's too striking? Who cares! it's not like I'll be mailing that many people, or anyone important, for that matter..."**

 **I have an attachment to Hedwig. Sorry not sorry.**

 **Three chapters today, because I forgot to update the past three days. Oops.**


	3. No, Diagon Alley

After eating lunch, Harry told Sirius about the whole wand ordeal.

"This creepy old lady came up to me before I entered Ollivander's," she started. Sirius' eyes narrowed.

"She insisted I try a wand that she had made. After a couple of tries, I decided to try it. A warm feeling came on me, and the old woman told me this wand was her life's work, and gave me this card -" Harry slid the card across the table to Sirius, "- and then disappeared."

"Harry," Sirius said in a…well…serious tone, "If creepy old ladies come up to you and force you to try out a wand they made you should probably refuse, kick them in the knee, and run away as fast as you can."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said nonchalantly, "Anyways, as soon as she was out of sight I broke the wand and went into the wand store. Ollivander said it was made of… beech wood? Some fool's gold, I think, and mineral topaz. He gave me another wand, but apparently the phoenix feather in it came from the same phoenix that was in Volde-sorry, You-Know-That-Guy's wand. Ollivander told me I couldn't get another one as long as the one I had was still working, so I broke that one too."

"You _what_ ," Sirius said, "Wands are expensive, Harry. Have a little consideration for your bank account."

"It's my hard-earned money, I'll do what I like with it," Harry replied smugly.

"Why would you need to earn money?" Sirius asked, "You have a huge trust fund. Even if you never take anything out of it."

"I have a _what_?"

"Oh. I'll take it you didn't know that."

* * *

After another fifteen minutes of Sirius explaining to Harry that despite her parents sending her away to her aunt's, they had still kept her trust fund up and running for some reason, so if she wanted to, she could take out money from there. He told her that James said that there were occasional withdrawals by her aunt, so he assumed she must know about it.

"Well you're wrong," Harry said, "I don't know anything about it, and I don't know what on earth Aunt Petunia's taking money out of my trust fund for."

"You, probably," Sirius looked up from where he was examining the table, "Children do cost money, Harry, and you do as well, whether you like it or not. And while the money the Dursleys make might easily feed the three of them, they may struggle to deal with another child as well."

"I'd hardly think so," Harry replied, scowling. "They're quite well-off. In fact, the other day, my cousin Dudley got a grand thirty-something presents."

"Thirty-something?" Sirius said incredulously, "Perhaps the money was for your clothes, Harry? She only took out small amounts- a hundred pounds or so every year or so."

"I'm still going to ask her about it."

"Do as you please," Sirius said, "I'm your godfather, not your babysitter, and it certainly isn't _my_ job to reign you in. In fact," Sirius paused, "I might actually make you worse."

"Worse?" Harry looked up at him, "In what ways?"

"In _this_ way," Sirius placed something in front of her. It was a blank piece of yellowing paper - no, parchment. Harry picked up the parchment and held it to the light.

"Yes, another piece of paper to assist me in ruining the world with my horrible handwriting!" she cackled maniacally for dramatic effect.

Sirius smacked his forehead with his palm. "No, you idiot, it's not for that."

"You shouldn't call children idiots," Harry said in a chastising tone, "We're naturally dumber than adults, it's not our fault."

"Sorry, Harry," Sirius ruffled her hair, "I didn't mean to offend you. Anyways, this piece of paper is magic!"

"Wow, really?" Harry gasped, "No way!"

" _Down_ with the sarcasm, young lady," Sirius said, "This piece of parchment is magic because. Well. Let me show you."

He pulled out his wand and placed the tip on the piece of parchment. Solemnly, Sirius said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Ink swirled on the parchment and eventually congregated into lines, forming a map. Harry gaped in astonishment.

"A bit amazing isn't it?" Sirius smirked at her expression.

"The map part?" Harry said, "meh. But the magic part- whoa."

"Whoa?" Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"I'm new to magic, alright, don't judge me if I find everything a little amazing."

"Alright, alright," Sirius held his hands up in surrender, "I won't judge you anymore. But anyways," Sirius returned his attention to the parchment, "What's so amazing about this map is that it tells you where anyone is at the current time at your school."

He pointed at a circular room. The words Albus Dumbledore hovered above a pair of footprints. "Obviously, since it's summer, there aren't that many people at school, but there's the old headmaster in his office."

"Uh huh," Harry said, "I see, I see. Where can I buy another dozen of these?"

"Not at any store near you," Sirius said, "The Marauders - that is to say, James, Remus, this other bloke, and I, we made it."

"You _made_ it?" Harry raised her eyebrows, "That is so _cool_!"

Sirius nodded vigorously. "Isn't it?" he said, "I'm passing it on to you now - the only copy we have left. Filch took one, and the other two were lost in horrible accidents."

"Who's Filch?" Harry asked, immediately deciding she didn't want to know about the "horrible accidents".

"Caretaker of Hogwarts," Sirius said, "He's a nasty old fellow. Hey, if you ever do find yourself in that tiny cupboard he calls an office, find the other map and send it back to me."

"Alright," Harry said.

"Let's return you to your aunt now, shall we?"

"Wait, I need this made into a quill," Harry pulled the phoenix feather out from her pocket.

"Is that a _phoenix_ _feather_? Merlin's beard, Harry, how many more surprises do you have?"

* * *

After the phoenix feather quill was finished, Sirius took Harry back to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Now, all you have to do is say 'Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey' and it should take you back," Sirius told her, "I'll come after you to make sure you've arrived, but I won't stay for too long. Your uncle doesn't like me."

"Why not?"

"For good reason, Harry, for good reason," Sirius said genially, and Harry knew she would get no further out of him.

Once she arrived back at Privet Drive, Aunt Petunia came rushing from the living room. "How was your day, Harry? Oh dear, that fireplace magic does _dreadful_ things to your hair, you really shouldn't use it at-"

The fireplace gave a burp and spit Sirius out.

"Ah, hello Petunia," Sirius said awkwardly, "Just came after Harry to make sure she'd arrived safely."

Aunt Petunia froze, and for a second Harry thought she was going to faint, but then she had smiled and went over to Sirius. She gave him a hug, and then ripped into him.

"Don't act like you haven't been missing for years, Sirius Black! Oh boy, will you wait until Vernon hears this - what is this - you can't just stroll in here again like you've never stopped doing it!"

"Except I can, and I just did," Sirius said cheekily. Aunt Petunia grabbed him by the ear and dragged him into the kitchen. Harry trailed after them awkwardly, ignoring Sirius' obvious 'help me' signals.

"None of that attitude, Sirius Black, I'm your elder!" Aunt Petunia settled in the kitchen, "Harry, dear, take a glass of milk and some cookies and head upstairs. You don't want to be behind on your schoolwork when you get to… Hogwarts, do you?"

Harry saw Aunt Petunia's obvious attempt to get rid of her, and quickly grabbed some milk and cookies, like her aunt had suggested, and escaped the kitchen. She heard her aunt speak again before she was out of hearing.

"Now, Sirius, tell me _everything_."

* * *

By the time Harry came back downstairs, it was evening, and Sirius had left with a quick goodbye. Uncle Vernon had returned and was inhabiting the living room couch and the telly.

"Ah, Petunia's finally told you about your freaky stuff, has she?" he said from the couch, looking an awful lot like a walrus.

"Uh. Yeah."

"Well, it's might good that you're paying for it yourself, because _I_ certainly won't be spending _my_ hard-earned money on your freakery."

"Freakery? Now that's a new one," Harry said, chuckling, "Worry not, dear uncle, for the next time I go to the bank, I'll empty my trust fund of every… knut? And you shan't have to pay a penny for my schooling."

"Since when do you have a trust fund, kid?" Uncle Vernon said in surprise.

"I know, right?" Harry said, "I didn't know either. Apparently my parents kept it running even after they chucked me out, for some reason. Anyways, it replenishes after I empty it, so I'll just transfer some money out every so often. The Potters won't notice a _thing_."

"Good financials, girl," Uncle Vernon said, "I knew that bakery business of yours would come to some good. You keep at that, but make sure to give us a pretty penny before you shove off."

"I'll be giving some to Aunt Petunia for her loving care," Harry said sarcastically, "And how do _you_ not know of it? Apparently Aunt Petunia withdraws a hundred pounds every year or two?"

"I don't tell him _everything_ , Harriet," Aunt Petunia appeared at the doorway, "What would the fun be in that?"

Harry and Uncle Vernon gave gasps of horror at her statement.

"You _don't_?" Vernon said in disbelief.

"You _eavesdropped_?" Harry said in equal disbelief.

"I don't, Vernon, and yes I did, Harriet," Aunt Petunia said, "I used the money from the bank to pay for your schooling and some clothes on occasion."

"Clothes on occasion, as in clothes maybe once a year," Harry said mockingly, "I'm literally just wearing your and Lily's old clothes."

"Why waste good clothing?" Aunt Petunia said, as she always said, "Now, let's move along. Dinner's nearly ready."

 **This chapter is really short for some reason? Not sure why. It's pretty insubstantial, too, just a bunch of regular ol' things happening.**

 **Next chapter is also pretty slow, but thing will start to pick up after that.**


	4. The Heir of All Things Silly

A couple of weeks later, there was another knock at the door.

"Sirius!" Harry yelled as she threw herself out the door and into his arms, "Let's go!"

Sirius apparated them (eugh) to the Leaky Cauldron and lead them over to where a man was sitting in a booth.

"Oh, you must be Mr. Lupin!" Harry said.

"That's right, Harry, this is _Mister Remus Lupin_ ," sniggered Sirius. The man next to him rolled his eyes. He was about as tall as Sirius, with a scarred face and greying brown hair. His clothes were very smart, if a little tatty.

"Hello, Mr. Lupin," Harry offered, "I'm Harry Potter."

"Just Remus is fine," said the man, "Or even Uncle Remus, if you insist on making me feel old. May I ask why you choose to call yourself Harry?"

"Oh, it's not a gender thing or anything," Harry replied as she sat down, "Just a personal choice. Harriet's a bit drab. Besides, why go by what my parents wanted, anyways? My name _is_ , after all, Harry Harriet Lillian Potter. So Harry is my correct name… technically."

"Oh, your parents never wanted you to be named Harriet, trust me," Sirius chuckled, "They thought you were going to be a boy, and you would be named Harry. So once you were born, your father mistakenly called you Harry, and the midwife told him you were no boy, James' ever-so-quick wit failed him, and his first offering was 'Harriet'. Your mother, in her own right, tried to shoot down this name and quickly offered her own name as your middle name. Unfortunately, official naming witches and wizards can be a little nutty at times, and the one at your birth was a little deaf, too. That's how your name ended up being Harry Harriet Lillian Potter instead of Harry James Potter."

"Oh, cool!" Harry said excitedly, "That's a great story!"

"Never heard that one before," Remus muttered. Sirius looked at him dolefully.

"Sorry, Moony. You remember how it was-"

"Yes, yes, no need for explanations, Sirius," Remus replied.

"Moony? Why is that your nickname?" Harry asked.

The two men glanced at each other, at a loss for a moment, before Sirius replied - "Uh, he's great at Astronomy!"

"Astronomy? How cool!" Harry replied, "Will you teach me some before I leave for Hogwarts?"

"Yes, Moony, teach the girl some Astronomy," Sirius said with a grin on his face. Remus glared at him before sighing.

"Best to leave the teaching to real teachers, Harry," he replied in a somber tone.

"Oh dear, you sound miserable," Harry said, "Do you have a girlfriend by any chance?"

"What—I—"

"Or a boyfriend? Sorry, I shouldn't assume."

"Uh, Harry—"

"Oh, how about we just say a significant other?"

"I -"

* * *

"- don't get it," Harry said, skipping along Sirius as they made their way over to Gringotts, "Did I do something wrong? I was just trying to help."

"Harry, you little angel," Sirius said, "Your idea of _help_ is far different from Remus' idea of help. Don't worry, he's not mad, just a little embarrassed. He'll meet us at Florean Fortescue's afterwards for some ice cream."

"Oh, good," Harry said, "I totally thought I had offended him in some unforgivable way."

"I'm sure he's used to it, the Potters are quite a bunch," Sirius said.

"Ugh, don't compare me with them," Harry said, frowning.

"My bad," Sirius replied, "But the Potters are quite silly sometimes. James is a prankster, Lily a tempest, and Charlus the very definition of spoiled. In comparison, you are nothing."

"Always draw the short straw, I do," Harry grinned sourly.

"Ah, not like that, silly," Sirius quickly amended his words, "It's a good thing. Your biological family is a real handful, despite how lovely they seem."

"Don't seem lovely to me," Harry grumbled, "Who leaves a baby on a doorstep anyways? What if I got eaten by wolves?"

Sirius shrugged. "Don't ask me, wasn't my choice. But I'm fairly certain there are no wolves in Surrey."

* * *

"…to my trust vault, if you please?" Harry asked.

"Key?" The goblin said boredly.

"Uh—"

"A blood test will do," The goblin — Werdferdenber — pulled out a small silver plate and a little needle.

"Hand?" Harry placed her hand on the counter. The goblin looked up at her expectantly.

"Are there any other tests you would like to do?"

"All the usuals, if you don't mind," Sirius interjected. Werdferdenber pulled out a variety of parchments and plates.

"Just a few pricks, don't be scared," Werdferdenber told Harry.

He pricked her finger with the needle and let the blood drip over each of the parchments and plates.

"You are indeed Harry Harriet Lillian Potter," said Werdferdenber, "You do have access to vault 1303, which is a trust vault, which currently has 1200 galleons, 24 sickles, and 3 knuts in it, as well as other assorted items, as well as vault 4219, which you created a few weeks ago. It has 45 galleons, 15 sickles, and 8 knuts to it. Being a minor, you are under the authority of Petunia Marie Evans Dursley and a protectorate of the Most Noble House of Potter. You are also the heir to the House of Black."

"Transfer everything in my trust vault into vault 4219," Harry said.

Werdferdenber stamped a piece of paper. "Done."

"Could you remove the protection of—"

"Harry, no," Sirius said, "If there's any way to anger someone, it's to rebuff what they consider as a favour."

"Never mind, then," Harry said, "And the other tests?"

"Your family tree," Werdferdenber handed Harry a large scroll, "And as this paper would have it, you are apparently the Heir of Hufflepuff, giving you access to massive vault 877."

"Who's that?" Harry asked immediately.

"One of four founders of Hogwarts, the school I assume you are attending," Werdferdenber replied.

"Through the Black line, I'm assuming?" Sirius asked the goblin.

"Yes," the goblin replied.

"Alright," Sirius said, "Take us down."

They went on another cart ride, sitting down this time.

"You mustn't let anyone know of this," Sirius told Harry, "But I'm the Lord of my family and once you were born, I named you my heir because I certainly wasn't planning on having children anytime soon, and Charlus was Heir Potter, so I thought it was only f-heir. Now, the Blacks were never quite a good sort, and you could say I was the white sheep of the Black family. Most of them are dead now, and the remnants are hardly in any position to claim Lordship of the Blacks.

What you must understand first is that there are four houses at Hogwarts, which you are sorted into based on your personalities. Gryffindor — bravery, chivalry, courage. Hufflepuff — loyalty, hard work, marshmallow. Ravenclaw — wit, cleverness, the smarty pants of the lot. And then Slytherin — cunning, sneaky, and more often than not, evil. Most Slytherins believe that those who are not of pure wizard blood should not be allowed to attend magical school, which is, of course, hogwash. Gryffindor, in stark contrast, welcomes these people and accepts them, which leads to my next point —

Gryffindor and Slytherin hate each other.

My entire family before me had been sorted into Slytherin. I was sorted into Gryffindor. And so I was the odd one out.

Never mind that, let's get to the point. Out of all four houses, Hufflepuff is currently deemed to be the most pathetic. Of course, this is not true, there's nothing wrong with dear old Hufflepuff. Helga Hufflepuff was a lovely lady, and while the other three set their standard, Hufflepuff said she would take all. Of course, being descended from Hufflepuff, to my family, was their greatest shame.

However, I don't see anything wrong with it. Which is why, at the beginning of your school year, I'm going to play a prank on the world and publicly announce that dear old Helga is my great-great-something gran."

"Ooh, plot twist!" Harry clapped her hands together excitedly.

"Don't tell anyone you're my heir, though. The remaining Blacks don't care who they have to destroy in order to get to the money."

"Uhhhh—" Harry pointed at Werdferdenber and raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, most goblins don't care about wizard affairs," Sirius rolled his eyes, "What do you think, Werdferdenber?"

"Do as you wish, I only look forward to enjoying the panic and misery of the wizards," the goblin replied, "And here we are. Massive Vault 877."

As they reached the door, Harry noticed there was no real entrance to the vault. The door, yes, but you could hardly call it a door as it seemed to more strongly resemble a wall.

"How do you enter?" Harry asked Werdferdenber.

The goblin grinned maniacally, before saying in his harsh, grating voice, "Blood."

* * *

One prick of blood from Sirius' palm later, the door swung upwards and the floor started moving them inwards. The door closed after them, stopping just short of the floor.

In the centre of the vault was a pool, and inside the pool was piles and piles of gold galleons. Little coins were slowly floating down from the ceiling and hitting the water with little plinks as they passed through.

"Forget that," Sirius said, steering her away from the pool. He dragged her over to a wooden dressing table, where there was a jewelry box inside.

"You can take something out of here," Sirius said, "If you want to wear it."

Opening the jewelry box, Harry saw many bracelets and earrings and necklaces, but she instead glided over to the rickety wooden closet and opened it. Inside were many poofy dresses, and through it, Harry picked out a pair of sturdy brown leather boots.

"Oh, those were Madam Hufflepuff's casual boots," said Werdferdenber, "She wore them for walks and whatnot."

"Can I try them on?" Harry asked Sirius. He shrugged.

"Go ahead."

"This Hufflepuff lady had small feet," Harry said, slipping the boots on.

"The people back then were physically smaller, Harry," Sirius said, "She was quite average for her time."

"When was her time, anyways?"

"Oh, we're talking about… first, second century?"

" _Bloody h_ —"

"Harry," Sirius cut her off, "Not until you're thirteen."

"Oh my god, I'm wearing relics," Harry hurriedly pulled the boots off her feet and put them back in the closet.

"You don't want anything?" Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"No, no, this should all be in a museum, honestly," Harry replied, "I don't want any of this."

"They have long-lasting protection charms on them," Sirius said in a salesman-like voice.

" _This_ ," Harry raised her hand, "also has several long-lasting protection charms on it."

"Fair enough," Sirius sighed.

Harry had pointed at the ring Sirius had given her for her birthday. As his note had said, rings were far easier to put on than necklaces or bracelets, and that she should wear it on her right index finger, as that represented leadership. The ring was silver and embedded with crystals that would glow different colours depending on her mood, meaning all it was in actuality was a hyped-up mood ring.

"Well… if you don't want to take anything, then we came down here for nothing," Sirius said, looking beseechingly at Harry.

"Ugh," she said, rolling her eyes, "Stop trying to guilt me into bringing something back."

"How about this cup?" Sirius picked up a large cup with a fancy crest on it, "It replenishes every time you finish drinking in it."

Harry shot him an unsavoury look. "I don't need a cup."

Sirius sighed. "I suppose it's too much to assume my goddaughter would want jewellery or clothes. So… why not take her diary?"

"What?" Harry blanched, "Her _what_?"

"Helga Hufflepuff's diary," Sirius said, "Look, it's sitting right there." He pointed at a worn, leather-bound tome sitting on a nearby table.

"Isn't that an invasion of privacy?" Harry asked, crossing her arms, "I mean, I wouldn't like it if somebody looked into mydiary."

"Oh, it's quite alright, dear, I don't mind," said an unfamiliar voice. Harry shrieked and jumped behind Sirius, who was trying to stifle his laughter.

"What was that? Why are you laughing?" Harry said, poking Sirius insistently.

Sirius pointed at a large portrait of a woman. She was plump, and had bright red hair and ruddy cheeks. She was wearing a matronly smile.

And then she looked at Harry and said, "Hello there."

Not used to this sort of thing, Harry replied back shyly, "Um. Hello."

"I'm Helga Hufflepuff," said the woman.

"I'm Harry Potter," replied Harry, "You can talk?"

"Of course," replied Helga Hufflepuff. "All magical portraits can talk. Well. Those of _people_ , at least." She frowned slightly, seemingly remembering something before turning back to Harry with a cheery look on her face.

"You're new to this, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I just found out I was a witch a couple of weeks ago. My biological parents are magical, though, if that counts for anything."

"Not to me, it doesn't," said Helga, "I'm sure dear old Sally would mind."

Harry was about to question who 'Sally' was before realizing something. "Hey, wait, how can you speak English?"

"A portrait can speak whatever language you want it to speak," replied Helga, "My native language certainly is _not_ English, but since English is _yours_ , I suppose that's why we're speaking in it. Besides, I have multiple frames all across England. I picked up most of my languages from listening to people talk."

"Oh," Harry said, "How… curious."

"Anyhow, I don't mind if you take my diary," said Helga, "It's quite the source of interest, you know." Then she winked at Harry and walked out the frame.

"Where did she go?!" Harry turned to Sirius.

"Into one of her many other portraits, I'm sure," he replied with an amused look, "Now that you've got the permission from the old lady, you can take it with a guilt-free conscience."

Harry narrowed her eyes.

* * *

"Unbelievable! You have the opportunity to take the diary of one of the most famous people in Britain, and you don't take it!" Sirius threw his hands in the air.

"The opportunity or the diary?" Harry asked casually.

"The opportunity!" Sirius said, pausing for a moment, "Oh. Or the diary, I suppose."

Harry snickered.

"Little _snake_."

"Hiss," replied Harry boredly.

"Unconvincing Parselmouth, though," Remus said, "Two out of ten."

"Unbelievable," Harry said, sinking into her seat, "It's quite evident that you've never even _met_ a Parcel-whatever in your life."

"Parselmouth," corrected Remus, "A person who can talk to snakes."

"Oh! I can do that!" Harry said, deciding not to mention the pet store, "I once had a very lovely conversation with a garden snake. I guess that's what happens when you don't have any friends."

Sirius cast a curious look over at her. "I can't tell whether you're joking or not."

"Neither can I," Harry grinned mischievously.

* * *

After another walk around Diagon Alley (including visiting the "Quidditch" store!) Sirius brought Harry and Remus to a fancy restaurant for lunch, where Harry ordered tomato soup and bread just to piss off the stuck up aristocrats they were dining near.

"What house do you reckon she'll be in, Sirius?" Remus said as Harry lapped up the soup.

"I dunno, do I look like a wacky old hat to you?" Sirius said, rolling his eyes, "Any of them, to be honest. Yes," he said at Remus' _look_ , "even Slytherin."

"Aww, thanks, Sirius," cooed Harry, "I know, I know, I ambrave, smart, loyal, and cunning."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Modest, too."

Harry beamed, "On spot, old dog."

Sirius choked.

* * *

"Is there an explanation for why Sirius returned you to me today howling with laughter?" Aunt Petunia asked.

 _Howling with laughter._ Unbeknownst to Harry, it was very appropriate word choice.

"I dunno," shrugged the eleven-year old, "I called him an old dog and then he and Remus both burst into laughter. I don't get it."

"Ah," said Aunt Petunia wisely. Harry thought she saw a hint of a smile on her lips, but quickly dismissed it as her mind playing tricks.

 **Aaand that's the last chapter to be uploaded today. Remember, if you really can't wait, just go on my AO3 and read ahead. I won't mind. (Although, there are some minor updates in wording with this one which I will update on AO3 in the future.)**

 **Anyways, ffdotnet audience, what do you think? The people on AO3 are terribly quiet. They never comment on anything, and despite having over 80 subscribers on my fic, most of them hardly ever give feedback or take the time to enthuse. I always thought fanfictioners were louder and more liberal with reviews. Let's see it!**

 **Next chapter: "Kings Cross; Prelude".**


	5. Persuasion for Dummies

"Hey, Uncle Vernon, can you drive me up to King's Cross so I can go to school?" Sirius had, unfortunately enough, left on an urgent trip to France to deal with some English criminals. Remus had cited visiting his grandmother in Wales, and vanished mysteriously. So, here she was.

"Why should I do that?" The fat man looked up from his breakfast.

"Think about it this way," Harry put her hands on the table, and smirked, "You drive me up to London. You get rid of me for ten whole months."

"She has a point," Dudley said from the sitting room.

"Or," said Uncle Vernon, grinning at her sadistically, "You could take the train."

"I'm eleven years old," said Harry, "And you and Petunia are my guardians. If anything happens to me on this _train_ , you're getting in trouble, not me."


	6. King's Cross

Uncle Vernon took her to King's Cross.

"Now, Petunia said you had to run at a wall, or something, so make sure to do that."

Wondering whether the man had finally lost his mind, Harry nodded along, "Okay."

"Now off you go," he said, grinning, "Ten months, ten months without the brat! Whoo!"

"I'm not a brat, you _walrus_!" hissed Harry. She would regret this, but hey, she wouldn't regret it for another ten months.

Uncle Vernon glared at her. Harry sent the nearby constable a charming smile, and he smiled back, his eyes sliding over to Vernon, who quickly relaxed his expression.

"See you in ten months, Harry, take care," said Uncle Vernon through gritted teeth, "You'll pay for that, girl."

"Well, adios, see you hopefully never, dear uncle," Harry pranced off (as best one could prance while pushing a trolley.) Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her uncle walk off in a huff, muttering about young upstarts and annoying nieces.

She looked at her ticket. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters? "Run at a wall"? She counted three pillars between each platform… logic dictated that the platform must be the one closest to 10. Run at a wall. Harry navigated her trolley towards the the pillar in the middle, and observed as a boy with dark hair and a blue tie carefully leaned up against the third pillar and then vanished. _Run at a wall_ , she thought bitterly, _bet Vernon made that one up just to land me in trouble_.

She steered her trolley towards the pillar and copied the boy from before, leaning up against the wall. The wall vanished, and she almost lost her balance as she emerged onto the station.

 **A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked behind her and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. She had done it.**

 **Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every colour wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.**

 **The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed her cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat.**

Finding a more empty carriage, Harry attempted to heave her trunk onto the train, grunting as she struggled to lift it even an inch.

"Need a hand?" said somebody.

"Sure," said Harry, just glad to have somebody else help. The other person pulled up the other side of the trunk and helped Harry put it aboard the train, as they said, "Merlin, why didn't you just get someone to put a feather-light charm on it?"

"I dunno," said Harry, and _what the hell is a feather-light charm_ flickered through her thoughts as she looked up at the person who had helped her.

It was a boy. He was about her age, and had clear, sparkling brown eyes and hair the colour of toffee. An easygoing smile graced his features as he held his hand out.

"Charlus Potter," he said.

* * *

Well if it wasn't just her luck.

"Harry," Harry said, wondering just how long she could delay this. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she took a deep breath and said, "Harry Potter."

The two stared at each other. Harry found herself analyzing every detail she could about this boy — how he blinked at her, completely at a loss, how his hands immediately flew behind his back, how he glanced nervously off to the side. She felt her eyes start to water, for some reason, and blinked hard, trying to banish the tears. _I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. I will not let them see me cry, no, I will not. If I cry now I will take away everything Aunt Petunia has done for me, any last scraps of pride that I have. I will not cry, I will not cry —_

"Oh. Well," Charlus said, his expression changing quickly to something akin to confusion. His eyebrows scrunched together before blurting out, "I thought your name was Harriet?"

Harry laughed awkwardly as his eyes widened, as though in shock that he had voiced the thought out loud.

"I go by Harry," said Harry, deciding to skip the details, "Harriet's a stuffy old name. Would you want to be known as Harriet?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Exactly," Harry said. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, as Harry tried to think of something to say to her estranged twin brother, while simultaneously staring at the way that his hair moved in the drafty station, and glowed golden as the weak sunlight hit it. Was this the Boy-Who-Lived? Was this the boy who her parents had abandoned her for?

No. She shouldn't think like this. It wasn't his fault that they had abandoned her, but she couldn't help but feel a tick of resentment towards him, no matter how likeable he seemed.

He was supposed to be her _brother_. Her _twin_ brother. In another universe, she would've grown up with him as her other half, with him as the one she shared all her secrets with, who she stayed up talking late with. At least, that's what it seemed like with all the twins she had met at school - an automatic best-friend by birth, a default companion. Always by your side, no matter what.

 _Doesn't that sound nice?_ whispered something in her mind. _Don't you want that?_

 _No point in thinking about it_ , she figured, _since it will never happen. Once his parents about me, they will make sure I have nothing to do with him ever again. Why is he even talking to me now?_

Her thoughts, and the answer to that question, were interrupted when another boy appeared, curling his arm around Charlus'.

"Hey, Char, where've you been? Aunt Lily and Uncle James have been driving themselves spare looking for you," said the boy. He had a round face, straight blonde hair and an overall cheery look about him. He turned to Harry, noticing her, and elbowed Charlus in the side. "Already found yourself a girlfriend, eh?"

The reaction was immediate. Harry unsure of whether to laugh or cringe, made a strangled-sort of noise as Charlus shoved the boy off of him, scowling. Harry felt her cheeks heat up, embarrassed.

"Well, I'll just be going," she said, deciding to let the two sort things out themselves, "See you at Hogwarts," she added uncertainly, glancing between the two boys before darting on the train and dragging her trunk along as fast as she could to escape to embarrassment of _that sound_. The first compartment she found was empty, so she immediately occupied it. She heard conversation flow through the open window, and sank down into the seat, not wanting to be seen.

"Bloody hell, Char, what was that for?"

"Nev, that was the most inappropriately timed joke ever."

"What? Who was that girl?"

"I… Look, my parents are coming over. I'll explain later, okay?"

"Alright, mate."

"Charlus James Potter! Where have you been? Your father and I have been looking for you for ten minutes! Do you remember what happened the last time you wandered off alone?" A woman's voice, slightly higher pitched as she berated her son. Harry's heart pounded painfully in her chest as she heard her speak, and the name flew at her at the speed of light - Lily Potter.

"Yes, mother, I remember. The press came and harassed me."

"Your mother is right, you know, there's all sorts of folk around here. You should really be more careful, Char." A deeper voice, male. An undercurrent of playfulness at the end. Her heart picked up speed in her chest, and it felt like all the air had been stolen from her lungs as she sat there in the train carriage, feeling as though she had ran for hours on end.

James Potter.

The two didn't sound like inherently horrible people, but you could never know, really. Harry knew loads of people who thought Vernon Dursley was a wonderful, upstanding citizen, namely the entirety of Privet Drive.

She felt tears gather up in her eyes, and didn't bother trying to hold them back, instead shuffling to other end of the carriage and pulling her legs up onto the seat. She buried her face into her knees, and sniffled.

"Alright, alright, I get it, but you and Mum won't always be around for me, will you?"

"And what exactly do you mean by _that_ , young man?"

"Um, like… I'm going to Hogwarts, right? And the two of you won't be there. Then what?"

"Then you hex anyone who looks at you silly."

"James!"

"Sorry, Lils. Just kidding, Char. Don't hex anyone unless their name is Snivellu—"

"James." Lily's voice took on a dangerous tone here, daring her husband to go further.

"Sorry, Lils."

"Now, Char, don't go hexing anyone. Anyone does something nasty to you, you go straight to your head of house, alright?"

"Yes, Mum," Charlus said tiredly, "Can you leave me be now?"

"Alright, alright, let a woman worry over her son, won't you? I won't see you for another three and a half months, let me enjoy my time while I have it."

Harry could hear Charlus' exasperated sigh before he spoke again. "C'mon, Nev, let's go find a compartment before all the good ones are taken."

"I'll come too!" James said, "Can't have you sitting with any Death Eater spawn, can we?"

Harry's heart started quickening its pace again. Oh no, what if he came aboard and saw _her_ , then what? Her life would be over, she would burst into tears - no, she would pretend to be someone else - no, that wouldn't work, either, Aunt Petunia told her she looked a whole lot like both of her parents, and she had seen the resemblance herself just by looking at Charlus, so —

Thankfully, Charlus said, "Next carriage over, this one's got too many people in it." He was lying! There was hardly anyone in the carriage, but Harry appreciated it nevertheless. She didn't fancy confronting her biological parents today — or ever, really. She had always thought that the day she met her parents again, she would stand proudly and tell them off with conviction, with no emotion in her voice as she explained what she thought of them. But that wasn't true, and it wasn't possible. Now, upon the realization that the mere sound of their voices could bring her to tears, she wondered if she could _ever_ face them again.

Lily and James didn't question their son, and Harry heard their voices fade away. She waited for her breathing to settle again, and wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve before straightening up in her seat and looking out the window at the swarm of students and families.

 _Don't think about it. Don't think about them._ She watched as a blonde girl with pigtails hugged her mother, and glanced away quickly, sighing.

 **Bolded bits are Rowling bits!**

 **Another double post! You should be glad it was a double post.** **I had hyped up the anticipation for this chapter for my readers on AO3. I posted the previous snippet as a "preview" and then made them suffer by posting this one a couple of days later. Heh... I feel a bit bad. But not really.**

 **Anyways. The first rendition of this chapter had Harry completely emotionless about her parents, and then I was like... wait. What? She can't be emotionless! She's gotta feel something! And so I managed to write out this emotional scene here. If you could tell me how I did, that would be great.**

 **I originally planned to leave the chapter at "Charlus Potter". But that would've been a touch too mean, considering all the stuff I put my AO3 readers through already.**

 **Anyways, they never comment, so why don't you tell me: how do you like Charlus? Neville? Lily and James?**

 **Charlus is my OC, and his name comes from the previous fancanon that James' father's name was Charlus (it wasn't true, but the name still stuck, so just pretend he was named after his father's favourite uncle or something, okay?) I'm excited for you to see how you guys react to him. You don't know much about him yet, but one thing I _can_ promise: he won't be like just any other twin from a WBWL story.**


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